


Cool Nachos, Dude

by waitingforjudas



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: First Kiss, Getting Together, Grocery Shopping, Love Confessions, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-14
Updated: 2020-02-14
Packaged: 2021-02-27 23:48:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 945
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22724212
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/waitingforjudas/pseuds/waitingforjudas
Summary: Pack meetings require a lot of food—and a lot of Doritos. Derek and Stiles happen to have differing opinions on what the ideal flavor of Doritos happens to be.
Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Comments: 10
Kudos: 249





	Cool Nachos, Dude

**Author's Note:**

> Stiles is seventeen—there's no explicit content anywhere beyond "Derek wanted" (and it gets cut off, although there are implied boners). If 17-year-old!Stiles with unspecified-older-age!Derek skeeves you out, that's legitimate, and I absolutely understand—please take care of yourself first and foremost. 
> 
> This is a one-shot work—I don't plan to expand it in any way. I've got too many other projects going on, including a fanfiction novel ( _Call Us Dropout Heroes_ ) that I'm planning to start posting in early March (next few weeks). If you want to get notifications for when I post CUDH, it's a sequel to my short work _We're Never Worth Our Fears_ , so you can subscribe to that series alone if you're interested.

Derek rolled his eyes at Stiles, who was stubbornly refusing to just get both bags of popcorn, and pushed the cart further down the aisle. 

They were shopping for a pack meeting. There couldn’t be _too much_ food, especially considering that Stiles would be there—and, frankly, his appetite was terrifying. 

“Oh— Derek, get me some Doritos. Party size.” 

He nodded, even though Stiles wasn’t even slightly paying attention to him anymore—back to muttering about the various virtues of birthday cake or peppermint bark popcorn. 

He was ridiculous. 

Derek bent over and grabbed half a dozen bags of Cool Ranch Doritos—party size because he didn’t, in fact, have a death wish—and tossed them into the cart, turning to grin at Stiles, whose mouth was a little agape. 

Derek scented the air as subtly as he could. Midway through, though, Stiles’ scent suddenly changed from mild arousal to complete disbelief and— Anger? 

“Stiles?” 

“Why,” Stiles said, “are you getting _six_ bags of _Cool Ranch Doritos_?”

Derek frowned. “You said to get Doritos.” 

“Are you a _heathen_? Nobody likes fucking _Cool Ranch_!”

A woman with a toddler shot them a dirty look—with good reason, Derek would add. 

“Stiles,” Derek muttered, “will you keep your voice down?” 

“How in the fucking flying fuck can I?” 

And he was shrieking now. 

“I’m so sorry,” Derek said to the woman, who grabbed two bags of Nacho Cheese Doritos and stormed off. 

Stiles cried out in something that sounded more like a squawk than any noise Derek had ever heard a person make before. “Are you _joking_? Even _she_ knows that there’s only _one_ true flavor of Doritos, and it’s _Nacho Cheese._ ”

“Stiles—”

“No! Are you _serious_?” Stiles turned his face heavenwards—or, as the more accurate case was, ceiling-wards. “ _This_ is how I find out the man I love likes _Cool Ranch Doritos_?”

Derek’s heart stopped, thudding hard in his chest. “You what?” he croaked. 

Stiles’ scent turned to panic. “What what? Nothing. I didn’t say anything.” 

“You love me?” 

Stiles stared at him, wide-eyed. “No. No, no, as a friend.” 

Half a lie. 

Derek frowned. 

“As _just_ a friend,” Stiles said. 

Full lie. 

“Okay,” Derek said carefully, trying to think of how to say things in a way that was reasonable considering that Stiles was seventeen. “Do you want to get Nacho Cheese instead?” 

“Yeah,” Stiles said—but his breathing was getting shaky. 

“Do you want to sit down?” 

“Nope.” Stiles grabbed five of the bags of Doritos out of the cart and threw them onto the shelf. 

“Stiles—”

“I’m fine,” he snapped. “Don’t—”

“I’m—” Derek swallowed and tried to think. “I’m not upset.” 

Stiles’ knuckles turned white and his shoulders bunched up at his ears. “Yeah,” he said, voice thin, “you’re flattered but kind of creeped out. You’d rather I kept my mouth shut and—”

“Will you stop putting words in my mouth, Stiles?” 

“You—” Stiles whirled on his foot only to stop short, all the aggression in him bleeding out. “Never mind.”

If there was ever a time to just _say_ it, it was—

“I love you, too.” 

Derek gritted his teeth and waited for Stiles to panic, or start hyperventilating, or to just argue with him. 

Stiles glanced over to him, with five bags of Nacho Cheese Doritos in his arms—all of them party-sized—and his scent settled into contentedness. With a note of uncertainty, but—

“You’re serious?”

Derek nodded, taking two of the bags of chips from Stiles before he started dropping them. “I am. I love you.” 

“Okay, like— Like you love me love me, or you _love me_ love—”

“ _Stiles_.” 

Stiles was quiet for a second. “Seriously, dude, are you like _in_ love with me or—”

Derek stepped forward, cupped Stiles’ cheek, and kissed him. 

Briefly. 

Because they _were_ in a grocery store, and—unlike _some_ people—Derek had some common decency. 

Stiles just stared at him for a long moment, letting Derek breathe him in. 

And— _Finally. Finally,_ Derek was here with Stiles. Together. 

And then Stiles lunged forward, grabbing Derek by the back of his neck—and his knees went wobbly, buckling as Stiles took most of his weight—and his cheek and kissing him hard. 

Stiles walked him backwards, and Derek gasped for air in the tiny breaths between Stiles’ lips and tongue, hot and wet and _everywhere_ and then Stiles was pressing him up against the shelves full of popcorn and chips and _oh God_ , Derek _wanted_ , he wanted Stiles to—

Someone cleared their throat. 

Loudly. 

Stiles stopped kissing him, pulling back very, very slow. 

And Derek was very, very sure that he knew who, exactly, was clearing their throat. 

“Stiles,” Sheriff Stilinski said, and a little part of Derek died. 

“Hey, Dad,” Stiles said, not backing up even a little. 

Which was probably a good thing. 

“Why don’t you two call this shopping trip done,” the Sheriff said, “and I won’t call this public indecency.” 

Stiles nodded. “Yeah, that—” He cleared his throat. “That sounds good.” 

“I’ll see you at dinner tomorrow night, Derek,” Sheriff Stilinski said. 

“Yes, sir.” 

Stiles, wisely, didn’t even try to protest. 

The moment the Sheriff had left the aisle, Stiles jerked back from Derek, leaving him somehow cold, and ran to the cart. “We’re going. Now.” 

Derek’s eyes went wide. “Stiles, you can’t—”

Stiles met his gaze evenly. “I can’t what?” 

_You can’t be serious_ , Derek wanted to say. But knowing Stiles? 

“Okay,” Derek said after a long moment. He nodded. “Let’s go.” 

Stiles whooped and pushed the shopping cart right into a display of snack cakes. 

Derek snorted and kneeled down to help him pick them up.

**Author's Note:**

> If you enjoyed, kudos and comments are always appreciated.
> 
> If you want to see more of my fanworks, subscribe to my AO3 profile or follow me on tumblr at waitingforjudas.tumblr.com.
> 
> Thank you for reading!


End file.
